Sherlock and Castle
by RetroWriter2012
Summary: When a series of murders lead Castle and Beckett to an organization connected between England and America, they can only turn to one man whose expertise can save the lives of many - Sherlock Holmes. My 2nd BBC/ABC show crossover! Reviews are welcomed!
1. Prologue

**Prologue: Message Received**

_Insomniac_ was one of the hottest nightclubs in Downtown Manhattan, filled with partygoers from ages 25 and older. Friday nights were the craziest time to be there – the music was up so high that the speakers were throbbing, dozens of guests were drinking (some very heavily), and even a few fights were started by the drunkards. None of this mattered much to Mark Tucker, a 29-year-old Caucasian bartender who had worked at _Insomniac_ for nearly five months. Like most people with jobs, Tucker took this one not just for the money, but for the experience…and possibly the women.

One woman in particular – a purple-haired Asian who looked like she was underage – approached the neon counter. At first she appeared very flirty towards Tucker, smiling at him and asking if he worked there. When the moment came to where she finally ordered a flaming martini, Tucker was all set to impress her with bartending skills that would make Tom Cruise jealous. He poured the martini from the bottle into a cocktail glass and lit a match; but as he brought the match over the martini-filled glass…

_FLOOM!_

The martini suddenly ignited and the cocktail glass exploded right in front of Mark and his purple-haired customer. Shards of glass and drops of the martini sprayed into the faces of Mark and the young woman; both were suddenly engulfed in flames and screaming to death. While the girl reeled back and fell onto a nearby, occupied table, Mark slammed his flaming body against the rack behind him, causing many of the bottles to fall off and shattered on the floor.

Many patrons and other employees immediately took notice of Tucker's sudden situation and attempted to go to his aid; however, before any of them could have reached him…

_BOOM!_

The area that encompassed Tucker and all of the alcoholic beverages around him unexpectedly erupted in a fiery explosion that spread like wildfire, taking the lives of the young bartender and everyone else in the nightclub. The explosion shot out through the front entrance with the flames consuming the bouncer and a few guests who were entering as it happened. All who waited in the long line outside the club fled from the chaos, some of them dialing 911 as they tried to get away. The hottest nightclub in Downtown Manhattan had literally become just that within a few minutes.

* * *

><p>After the fire department put out the fires that had taken out ninety percent of the nightclub, the police and paramedics finally arrived at the scene for investigation and to remove all of the charred dead bodies that littered the remnants of <em>Insomniac<em>. Amongst the police were Detective Kate Beckett of the NYPD's Twelfth Precinct Homicide Squad and fellow detectives Javier Esposito and Kevin Ryan, as well as best-selling mystery writer and "volunteer detective" Richard Castle. As the four moved past the police tape that kept any non-personnel out, they were less than surprised to see how much of a mess the explosion had caused.

"So what do we have, gentlemen?" Beckett asked Esposito and Ryan.

Ryan shook his head as he carried a notebook with very little details written on it. "All the witnesses are either dead or in intensive care. This explosion took out everyone and everything here."

"What caused the explosion?" Castle inquired.

Before anyone could answer Castle's question, their phones began to ring and vibrate in their pockets simultaneously, prompting them to take them out and see who was contacting them. On each phone was a text message that read, "Nitroglycerin."

Beckett frowned in suspicion. "Everyone got the same message?"

"Yeah," said a curious Castle. "Caller I.D. says it's unknown. Is this someone from the department? Somebody you guys know." He saw Esposito and Ryan shake their heads in reply. "Then who…?"

The phones rang and buzzed again. A new message appeared: "Throw a match into the wall."

Castle and the detectives exchanged awkward glances. "Anyone have a match?"

Ryan dug into his right coat pocket and retrieved a matchbox; taking out a single match and lighting it, he hurled it towards the nearest wall. When the fiery tip struck the charred structure, a new set of flames kindled, albeit stylishly. The team followed the trace of the flames as they were creating large letters such as "S," "H," "E," and "R" over one wall and "L," "O," "C," and "K" over another. After spelling "Sherlock" upon the walls, the flames traced to the floor and finally spelling out the word "Lives" near the feet of the investigators.

"Sherlock Lives?" Esposito read the flaming words aloud together.

"What the hell does that mean?" Beckett uttered.

"That…Sherlock lives?" Castle densely deduced, which got him one wry glance from Beckett. "Too obvious?"

**Sherlock / Castle**


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One: C. Doyle**

"So our chemical terrorist – our main suspect – could be the same guy texting you all at the scene of the crime?" Gates ascertained in front of Castle and Beckett, who stood firmly in her office.

Beckett nodded in confirmation. "We suspect so, sir. He knew exactly where the message in the wall was and the chemical that was used in that explosion. The only real question is how he got our numbers."

"And even bigger question is what 'Sherlock Lives' means." Castle mentioned. "He can't be referring to _the_ Sherlock Holmes, can he? No one could survive a fall like that guy did and live…or can they?"

Gates quickly caught onto Castle's look of curiosity and rebutted any possible, crazy theories he could have come up with. "It's a ploy to lead us on some wild goose chase. Sherlock Holmes was a fake and a criminal – the cases he solved were ones he committed himself. I _highly_ doubt this case would be one of those for two reasons: a) he is dead and b) he died in England – _thousands_ of miles away from New York."

"Yeah, but…"

"Mr. Castle, we are looking for a man who is presumably an American citizen and alive and well around the New York area." Gates asserted. "If you for one second try to find Sherlock Holmes during any part of this case, I will personally see to it that you are thrown off of it, regardless of whatever 'higher power' connections you have. Do I make myself clear?"

Castle stood firmer than he had been the entire time he was in Gates' office. "Yes, sir." He was thankful that the conversation was over as soon as he uttered those words, so he could rush out of her office ASAP. Beckett followed him out into the bullpen and gathered with him by her desk. "I do believe I'm just an inch away from getting on her good side."

Beckett snickered. "Good side? Castle, she almost threw you off the case right there and then. You're not even a centimeter away."

"Yeah, but she didn't. Anyone who keeps me around this long _must_ find me useful."

"I can vouch for that. Still, you could be right."

"About what?"

"About Sherlock still being alive."

Although caught by surprise over how correct Beckett was in her assertion on his thoughts, Castle tried not to seem so. "I never said that."

"No, but you were definitely _thinking_ it…even Gates saw so."

Unable to fake any longer, Castle giddily gave into temptation. "O.K., yes, I still think he's alive. And you want to know why?"

"Because even a superior genius like Sherlock can fake his own death."

Again, Castle was amazed by how quick Beckett was. "Wow. You are on fire today." He then got himself back on topic before losing track. "But, yes, Sherlock is still alive out there somewhere. Why else would someone give us the message back at the crime scene?"

"Not just 'someone,' Castle…Sherlock."

"It doesn't make sense for Sherlock to just _announce_ his return like that. It's just not his style."

"And hiring an actor to play his 'mortal enemy' isn't? Castle, I admitted that you could be right about Sherlock being alive. Don't force me into believing another insane theory."

Castle sighed in defeat just as his phone rang; at the same time, Beckett's phone vibrated on her desk. The two exchanged a quick, suspecting glance and then checked the text message left on their phones.

_If you desire proof, go to C. Doyle at the following address…_

Another incoming text message was sent and they found the provided address of "C. Doyle." Once again, Castle and Beckett shared a curious glance; she wondered of the credibility of the text message, whereas Castle was heavily curious to discover who "C. Doyle" was.

* * *

><p>Arriving at the location given to them, Castle and Beckett discovered it to be a decades-old apartment complex in the heart of the Bronx. They approached the front desk where a scraggly, balding middle-aged Caucasian man in a checkered shirt and wife beater was sitting and smoking a cigar. Castle and Beckett assumed this man to have been the landlord, encouraging Beckett to approach and ask, "Excuse me, sir. But which floor does C. Doyle live in?"<p>

He leered up at her with withered eyes. "Who're youse?" Beckett flashed her badge to him, but the landlord remained disinterested. "Did someone get whacked and I didn't know about it?"

"No. Nothing like that." Beckett clarified. "We're just here to see Mr. Doyle."

The landlord continued eyeing Beckett suspiciously and even gave Castle a funny look that made him a little uncomfortable. "Doyle don't get many visitors around here. Youse must be important to see 'im." After a beat, he finally revealed the information they desired. "Room 221 – ya can't miss it. The nut slapped on a 'B' right beside the numbers on the door."

"Thank you." Beckett acknowledged before going up the stairs with Castle following behind.

"221B." Castle uttered the room number and its added letter. "As in 221B Baker Street? This cannot be a coincidence."

"Castle…don't start."

Castle remained silent all the way up to the room that belonged to "C. Doyle." Just as the landlord had described, the room number on the door had the letter "B" included at the end of it in the form of a strip of white tape with the letter written on it by a black marker. As Castle grinned at the "221B" on the door, Beckett knocked a few times on it and waited for an answer; one came immediately as a voice with an English accent said on the other side, "It's open."

Beckett turned the doorknob and what sounded like music from a violin flooded into the corridor. The apartment of "C. Doyle" looked heavily cluttered, making the rest of the complex seem clean and organized. Stacks of papers stood like skyscrapers all around while photos and maps of New York, the United States, and England with thumbtacks and different colored strings on them were posted over the walls. Castle and Beckett finally reached what they guessed to be the living room where a tall man of a slender build with dark brown hair was softly playing a violin.

"Mr. Doyle?" Beckett began to say.

"Just a few more notes. Please." The man remarked before he went on to play the notes to close the tune. Moving the violin away from his chin and shoulder, he then commenced in addressing his guests. "Now then…Detective Beckett and Mister Castle…I'm glad to see you got my text."

"Yes," said Beckett, "you mentioned having proof."

"I did…and here it is." The man outstretched his arms with a grin upon his face, confusing Castle and Beckett.

"Where is it?"

"I _am_ it, Detective Beckett. My name is Sherlock Holmes…and I'm _very_ much alive and kickin'." He followed this statement with a wink that took Beckett by surprise more than his statement did. Castle, in the meanwhile, wanted to give her a huge "I told you so," but he gasped so much that he accidentally caused himself to choke.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: Smoke Screen**

The room was too silent – _way_ too silent. Not a single action took place in the room other than blinking and finger-tapping. Sherlock sat in his chair looking left and right at Castle and Beckett, while they did the same from the sofa. Castle and Beckett were not even permitted to take a seat, and Sherlock did not seem to mind one bit. After close to fifteen minutes of silence and staring, Beckett felt opted in saying something to push the elephant out of the room; but as she opened her mouth to say something, Sherlock was quick to shush her, drawing out the silence for another fifteen minutes.

After those fifteen minutes had passed, Castle's stomach began to growl, clearly growing the urge to eat something. Following on this, Sherlock immediately got up from his chair and said, "Right then. Let's go."

Beckett blinked in confusion. "Go _where_?"

"Out to eat." Sherlock answered as he grabbed and put on his trench coat.

"Mr. Holmes, there are some questions that we need to…"

"Detective Beckett, the most important part of an interrogation is to know how long it needs to be. Mr. Castle's stomach growled in twenty-five minutes total. Had you begun the interrogation twenty-five minutes before, you would've ended a _very_ crucial part of your investigation abruptly, thus losing the one hope you have in solving your case. And since you are the only two who know I'm the _real_ Sherlock Holmes and where I live, you both know that I will not be here when you come back. So either we end our little meeting this moment, or I show you the damnedest deli shop in Manhattan."

Sherlock had spoken so rapidly and fluidly that Castle could barely keep up with what he was saying. Meanwhile, Beckett merely chuckled and told Sherlock, "I still have my reservations on if you _are_ Sherlock Holmes."

There was a brief pause from Holmes before he focused his attention on Castle. "You have two shades of lipstick on both corners of your mouth, faded in the last few hours but still visible to the naked eye. The light shade is peach lipstick; one used by a young woman – eighteen years of age and suffers no insecurity about her appearance. The other shade is heavier – the average rose red lipstick used by a _much_ older woman – sixty-nine years of age and _very_ weary of her appearance, coming from a history of being an actress. The young woman is clearly your daughter, and the older woman is obviously your mother. Would you like me to tell you how I know their names before I say them out loud, Mr. Castle?"

Castle stared in awe and wonder at the vastly remarkable Englishman standing before them; he could barely get a word out. "I…uh…I'm okay with…whatever you…"

His dumbfounded reaction was enough to convince Beckett that she _was_ dealing with the _real_ Sherlock Holmes. Standing up from the sofa, she approached Sherlock and coolly said, "Lead the way, Mr. Holmes."

* * *

><p>Sherlock, Castle, and Beckett sat by the window of the "damnedest deli shop" that Sherlock knew of and ate the best-made subs as they talked. Of course, due to Castle being the much hungrier one of the group, Sherlock and Beckett had done most of the talking. "Mr. Holmes, if we can just finally cut to the chase," Beckett began, but she was quickly interrupted by Holmes, who already figured out what she was going to ask him.<p>

"I was in my apartment during the explosion of that nightclub, Detective Beckett." Sherlock confirmed. "How I knew it was nitroglycerin that was used to ignite it was not coincidence but fact. I've solved a similar case back in London when a bartender attacked his victims by poisoning their drinks in almost every pub at the corner."

"But the only difference in this case being that the bartender was a victim himself." Castle clarified through a mouthful of bread, lettuce, tomato, and salami.

"Castle, swallow before you talk," Beckett suggested.

"Sorry."

Sherlock smirked. "There are differences between the cases – other than the obvious locational differences. Of course, someone who's aware of my exploits in London could've traveled across the pond to start them here, hence the message left in the flames."

"Sherlock Lives." Beckett repeated the words they found at the scene.

Remembering his lesson and swallowing his food before he spoke, Castle gave his thoughts on the subject. "Do you think that the same guy you put away in London might be making a comeback in New York?"

"The man I put away died in prison, Mr. Castle." Sherlock contradicted. "And he wasn't smart enough to make such theatrics as he did at the nightclub."

"Our captain believes that _you're_ the perpetrator we should be after." Beckett indicated without hesitation.

"Does she now?" Sherlock said in amusement. "People all over the world think a lot of me after the Moriarty incident, Detective Beckett. Many believe I'm dead, while others – including Mr. Castle – like to believe that I am alive and told the truth the entire time. But what do _you_ believe?"

Beckett was temporarily silent before answering. "I believe you can help us with our case, because of what you know and how much you're capable of knowing. I just don't know how we're gonna have you help us out in the open."

"I am a walking smoke screen, Detective." Sherlock said with a smile. "My face might have been plastered all over London, but I'm just 'an ordinary bloke' here in America. How else do you think I made it here as long as I have?"

Beckett knew that Sherlock had a point, but it did not keep her from worrying about the consequences to including Sherlock in their case – consequences that could mean Gates taking her badge and job if she ever knew the truth. Shortly after making the deal with their new brilliant consultant, Beckett's cell phone vibrated on the table. Answering her phone, she received the call from Gates herself; it was an alert on another explosion. When she asked about the address, Beckett was surprised to discover that the incident occurred at Sherlock's apartment in the Bronx.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: The Role of a Lifetime**

A crowd of Bronx residents gathered at the scene of the explosion that occurred in the rundown apartment complex that looked even worse for wear with the charred first floor that had a gaping hole right where the explosion went off. When Castle, Beckett, and Sherlock arrived at the crime scene, they were amazed to see just how much worse this explosion looked compared with the one in the nightclub. Esposito, Ryan, and Dr. Lanie Parish were already at the scene; seeing Lanie there clued Beckett in on the fact there was a body involved; of course, Sherlock knew right away whose body it was. As they walked to the crime scene together, Beckett realized that there was no way Sherlock would get past the police barrier, despite the fact that he lived in that apartment.

"There's no way we'll be able to let you through." She alerted him.

"It's alright, Detective Beckett. I had that thought out already." Just when they got near the barrier, Sherlock suddenly went into a frantic state, rushing the barrier and the police officers that covered it. "That's my uncle in there! What happened to my uncle?" He yelled in a highly convincing American accent that fooled even Castle and Beckett; even the tears streaming from his face added to the drama that he was putting on. "Please! Let me through! I need to see my uncle!"

Once they got an idea of what Sherlock was doing, Beckett and Castle joined Sherlock at the barrier and Beckett urged the officer to let Sherlock through with them. Sherlock continued to play the part of the shocked relative as they walked up to the crime scene and met with Esposito, Ryan, and Lanie. Sherlock pushed out the tears even further when he saw burnt body of his landlord covered with a white sheet. Castle placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered, "Do you think they killed him to get to you?"

With a hand covering his mouth, Sherlock temporarily dropped his façade and whispered back, "They knew this was where I was hiding. There had to be something they sent to him that was meant to be for me." He then went back into his role and wept loud enough for Beckett and the other officers at the scene to hear.

"Who's he?" Esposito asked.

Beckett knew she was the only one who could speak officially for Sherlock's presence. "He's the vic's nephew, Conan Doyle."

"Should he really be seeing his uncle like this?" Ryan inquired.

"He insisted on seeing what became of his uncle." Beckett stated.

Again, Sherlock loudly wept. Castle helped sell the role even further by hugging him, but he was actually whispering to him again. "Could it have been a package filled with nitroglycerin ready to explode?"

"He wouldn't use the same ploy as before." Sherlock rapidly whispered. "He had to have tried something new. I need to get close enough to _smell_ for the chemical that was used."

Castle was just about to ask how Sherlock was capable of such a feat, but the weeping "Conan Doyle" moved away from Castle to get closer to the crime scene. Esposito was quick to block Sherlock's way to keep him from stepping in any further into the atmosphere, but Sherlock was close enough as is. He started inhaling deeply several times, which looked more like he was keeping mucus from running out of his nose. "Mr. Doyle, we have to ask that you keep back," said Esposito.

"Yeah…right." Sherlock obliged. "I just, uh, need to know what happened. Did somebody have it in for my uncle?"

"We're figuring that out right now, sir." Esposito said. "Just give us time."

Sherlock nodded and went back to where Castle stood, waiting to hear what Sherlock discovered. "There was no trace of chemicals in the area," Sherlock notified.

"So this was a straight bomb job." Castle suspected.

"This was another message." Sherlock affirmed. "Lou Romano died because he knew me – not who I _really_ was, but just…me."

Just when Castle thought he had things figured out, he was lost again. "The people in the nightclub didn't know you. Why would our suspect kill _them_?"

"That was to get my attention. This was just to push me further."

"Into what?"

Sherlock frowned. "My first American case."

* * *

><p>Sherlock's role as Conan Doyle granted him access into the examining room where Lou Romano's burnt body was laid out on the table. Sherlock stared upon the body calmly; for Lanie Parish, it looked as if he was so distraught over the death of his "uncle" that he was in a state of shock; truthfully, Sherlock was doing his own examination of the body, studying every portion of it. While he was doing so, Lanie told Castle and Beckett, who also stood in the room with them, "The bomb exploded right in front of Mr. Romano, consuming every area from his face down to his waist. He died within half an hour before we arrived at the scene."<p>

"So the cause of death was the packaged bomb?" Beckett deduced.

"Enough C-4 to leave massive trauma on a 55-year-old man." Lanie confirmed, before she looked toward Sherlock and added, "I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Doyle."

Sherlock nodded. "Doctor, could I have a moment with Detective Beckett and Mr. Castle please?" Lanie smiled and acknowledged the request with a nod, leaving the "grieving nephew" with the detective and writer. As soon as she was gone, Sherlock took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and moved right to a nearby drawer to retrieve a pair of surgical gloves.

"What the hell are you doing?" Beckett asked in surprise.

"With all due respect to your medical examiner, Detective, there is one _crucial_ detail that she missed in examining Mr. Romano's body." Sherlock stated as he went back to Romano's body and indicated his right temple. "The cause of death was _not_ the bomb. It was _this_."

Castle and Beckett looked closely to the area that Sherlock had pointed to; they were surprised to have seen a bullet hole in the right temple of Lou Romano's head. "He was shot?" Castle uttered.

"How did Lanie miss _that_?" Beckett wondered aloud.

"It's a simple mistake to make when our suspect is clearly attempting to cover an assassination under a bombing. As I told Castle at the scene, this murder was meant to push me further into this case. The bombing was designed to hide the bullet hole, inflicting enough damage to Mr. Romano's front half to wield it back shut." Sherlock quickly explained.

Castle was doing his best to keep up with him. "So…Lanie missed the bullet hole because of swelling?"

"She was right about there being enough trauma on the body – Romano was within close range of the blast, thus taking in enough force to disfigure his face." Sherlock specified.

"I'm still confused on the fact that this was an assassination." Beckett admitted. "You're saying that Romano was shot _before_ the blast occurred. Wouldn't he have been lying on the floor when it happened?"

"I'm saying, Detective Beckett, that our assassin knew the exact moment the explosion would happen." Sherlock said. "A well-timed shot to his right temple combined with the explosion of the C-4. Our killer knew the explosion would take care of the rest, hiding his dirty work."

Castle grinned. "But he didn't count on you finding the truth."

"He _did_, Mr. Castle." Sherlock then took a scalpel from the tool tray and commenced in slicing open Romano's right temple, removing the bullet that was lodged in his skull. It was a long range bullet that appeared to be three inches in Sherlock's hand.

Beckett noticed that the bullet parted at the center. "Wait. Does that bullet…open?"

Sherlock smiled widely as he saw that Castle got an eye for detail much like himself. He twisted one end of the bullet and opened it up to reveal what was inside: **a small strand of paper with a sequence of numbers typed on it**. Sherlock retrieved the paper from the bullet like he would a fortune from a cookie. "Like I told you before, Castle…this was another message."


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: It's Elementary**

Castle, Beckett, and Sherlock had spent a significant amount of time trying to figure out what the sequence of numbers on the piece of paper meant, but none of them came up with anything to solve the puzzle. The exact numbers on the strand of paper were: 1-4-6-7-18-5-5-14-16-15-9-14-20. They knew right away that the numbers did not represent a phone number due to the length of the sequence and the incorrect area code. Sherlock even silently admitted how challenging this puzzle of the killer's was, which would require very much of his vast intellectual skills. Unfortunately, solving the puzzle had taken a detour with another murder having been reported – the third one in the same week – near Beckett's precinct. The most unsettling part of this murder was how it had occurred in the William Adler Elementary School during school hours.

Beckett, Sherlock, and Castle arrived at the scene just shortly after police had evacuated all of the students and school faculty from the school. As soon as they arrived there, Beckett told Sherlock, "It's best that you wait by the car. We don't wanna arouse suspicions of why you're here when you should be grieving over your 'uncle.'"

Sherlock groaned over the limitations to his cover, but he understood what Beckett meant. "Just be sure to keep an eye out for anyway that would pertain to our murderer – any details you can find."

"We've done enough of these to be aware of that, Mr. Holmes." Beckett clarified before she went into the school with Castle beside her, leaving Sherlock doing as she suggested and waiting by the car. It was not often that he felt so useless at the moment, even though it was for a very brief moment.

* * *

><p>Castle and Beckett met up with Ryan and Lanie in one of the hallways of the school right near a janitor's closet. Inside the closet was the victim's body, an African American janitor that looked to be in his forties lying dead with the handle of a mop sticking out of his chest; the rest of the mop had been snapped off, leaving just the handle protruding from the dead janitor. As soon as Castle and Beckett appeared, Ryan jested, "We've gotta stop meetin' like this."<p>

"Tell me about it." Beckett somberly remarked. "What have we got?"

"Mister Harold Baron – 48 years of age – the vice principal found him like this during recess." Ryan informed.

"The mop handle is the obvious murder weapon here." Lanie indicated. "The suspect broke it in half and used the cut-off end to lodge it right through the vic's heart. Time of death occurred within a few minutes after he fought to breathe his last breath." As Lanie gave her report, she was clearly distraught, and it did not take Castle and Beckett very long to see why. On the right side of Harold Baron's face, there was a swastika freshly carved into his cheek – clear evidence of a hate crime.

Beckett sighed, turning to Lanie and doing her best to provide some comfort. "Do you need to step out?"

Lanie shook her head. "You know…we deal with a lot of sick bastards in this city every day…but it's the _sickest_ ones that don't just need to be put away…" She was on the verge of saying something she was going to regret in front of Castle, Beckett, and Ryan; but she walked away before it could have been said. As she watched her leave, Beckett hated to see her best friend having to witness someone the same race as her being a victim of a hate crime.

It was not long after Lanie left that Esposito rushed in urgently. "This just got even uglier, guys."

"What is it?" Castle inquired.

"We were interviewing all of the teachers and other faculty members, and one of the kindergarten teachers just discovered a student of hers has gone missing." Esposito reported. "His name is Erwin James – everyone calls him 'E.J.' for short."

Beckett's heart sank on this news as she realized there was a possible kidnapping to go on top of the murder. Immediately, she instructed Ryan and Esposito, "Have officers split into groups. Search every inch of the school for E.J. Call out his name until you're sore in the throat. When you've found him, radio it in." She indicated her radio on that last order just as the two officers carried them out.

Continuing to hang near the janitor's closet as the paramedics were coming in to take away Harold Baron's body, Castle wondered aloud, "So our suspect now adds 'Neo-Nazi Skinhead' to his resume on top of 'chemical terrorist' and 'bomber?' Are we even dealing with the same guy anymore?"

Beckett shrugged. "I don't know. Sherlock is the only one who could figure out all of this in a heartbeat."

"And even _he_ is starting to get stumped." Castle said. "We need to find this guy before another murder hap—" He stopped as soon as he looked into an empty classroom and saw a poster on the wall that showed the first few letters of the alphabet right above the first numbers of the number system.

Noticing how quiet Castle was, Beckett curiously asked him, "Castle? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just…channeling my inner Sherlock."

Beckett's eyes squinted in confusion. "You're _what_?"

"Sherlock said to pay close attention to any details that would help solve our case. I just found something that might help solve our biggest clue – the one we found from the bullet in Lou Romano's head. What if the numbers on the paper follow in sequence with the alphabet?"

Beckett thought back on the numbers; each one was engraved in memory from the multiple times that she, Castle, and Sherlock had looked through them. "You mean like number seven being in sync with letter 'G'?" Seeing how Castle was nodding with a grin on his face, Beckett was surprised to know how much the deduction made sense. "Castle, that is beyond genius."

"It's elementary, my dear Beckett…or, uh, elementary school…that taught…me."

Just when his genius appeared to be showing, he went and ruined it with the awkward comment he added to try and sound even smarter to her.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five: The Numbers Game**

None of the officers had luck finding the missing Erwin James anywhere around the school, leaving them to confirm a kidnapping on top of another homicide. Knowing that the missing child's parents would be called over to the station for questions, Beckett and Castle headed back as soon as possible. As they were leaving the school, they were surprised to find that Sherlock himself had disappeared from the scene, disobeying Kate's command; of course, what did she expect from a man who did not want himself seen? Figuring that Sherlock was somewhere trying to solve the case alone, Castle and Beckett ignored his absence and went back to the station without him.

Erwin James's parents waited patiently at the station until Castle and Beckett arrived; afterward, they inaugurated the interview in an available office. The first thing they quickly noticed upon meeting Erwin's parents was the fact that they were a black couple, meaning the child taken from the school was of the same race; it was a disturbingly coincidental fact in their case, considering the victim was black as well and the kidnapper/murderer was a racist. Knowing how sensitive Mr. and Mrs. James would have been on that key fact, Beckett and Castle kept the interview strictly focused on Erwin.

Mr. James handed a photo of Erwin over to Kate, who looked over it to see the details on their missing child. Erwin was five years old with short, curly black hair. While she looked at the photo, a very distraught Mrs. James told Kate, "Why would someone want to take our son? Erwin's always been a good boy – never bothered anybody."

Beckett handed the photo over to Castle, whose heart melted when he saw how adorable Erwin was, especially while wearing a Spider-Man t-shirt. "The man who kidnapped Erwin is a very sick individual, Mrs. James, but we can assure the both of you that we'll get him back safe."

It took all of the courage Mr. James had in him to ask, "Do you think that…the man who kidnapped our son would…?" He was so disturbed by his own question that he could not bring himself to finish.

"We'll find him before he can even _think_ of trying _anything_." Beckett assured, and Mr. James could only nod in acceptance of her promise while he did his best to comfort his wife, who started to break out in tears.

* * *

><p>The interview left Castle and Beckett feeling very cold. Beckett particularly had mixed feelings, believing that she lied right to Mr. James's face about his son's situation. "I really hate this job sometimes," she told Castle as they sat at her desk, looking at the photo of Erwin, which his parents left for them to help in their investigation. "I worry about the day when I find a kid this age lying somewhere dead in a street…I just don't want it to be <em>this<em> day."

"I know what you mean." Castle acknowledged. "But we have to stay positive for Erwin _and_ his parents."

Beckett nodded; she then went on a related note to their case to help lighten her spirits. "What was that you said earlier about connecting the numbers we found to the alphabet?"

Castle smiled as he took out a blank sheet of paper and wrote down the sequence of numbers, showing them to Kate. "The numbers got to spell out something – each number a letter."

Getting up to stand beside him as he started writing down the letters that represented each number, Beckett assisted with the activity. After working together to decrypt the sequence, they came up with a peculiar alphabetical sequence: **A – D – F – G – R – E – E – N – P – O – I – N – T**. "The first four almost complete the first letters of the alphabet with just 'B,' 'C,' and 'E' missing," Beckett indicated.

Castle gazed at the new sequence more closely. "But after that it starts to spell out something."

Beckett noticed it as well. "Yeah, it says 'Greenpoint'."

"Like in Greenpoint Avenue?" Castle then saw the connection. "An address."

Following on this, Beckett glanced at the first three letters of the sequence and traced them back to the first three numbers of the previous one; she was finally able to solve the puzzle completely. "146 Greenpoint Ave – that's where Erwin and our suspect are."

"Wait. Why would our suspect give us the address to his own place?"

"This was a message sent for Sherlock, remember?"

"Which means it'll obviously be a trap."

Beckett grinned while moving away from her desk. "Springing a trap meant for one man on a squad of armed officers doesn't sound like a smart move, Castle."

* * *

><p>Having Esposito and Ryan check out the address she and Castle uncovered, Beckett got her official confirmation when there turned out to be an apartment complex at that location. Ryan contacted the tenant and asked if a Caucasian male was seen with an African American child; fortunately, the tenant had in fact seen a man and a child with that description, finding it a little suspicious. The man's name was Robert Dex, and he lived in apartment 18D. Following on this lead, Beckett and her team went to the apartment of Dex; they went in with bulletproof vests that each read "police" – Castle wore his special vest that read "writer."<p>

Beckett decided not to take the subtle approach in entering Dex's apartment, kicking open the front door and entering with the other officers, guns drawn. Robert Dex's apartment was cluttered and unkempt; the shades on the windows were either rebel or Nazi flags, giving rooms an eerie red aura; there were also large posters of Adolf Hitler, KKK members committing heinous acts, and other controversial figures or groups hung on the walls. Castle, who was the last one to walk in, felt uncomfortable the moment he entered; he wanted to leave, but the thought of Erwin James being in such an atmosphere kept him from doing so.

While checking all over the apartment, Beckett and Esposito enter a room that had Erwin James, alive and well, inside and calmly watching television. At the moment they entered, Erwin looked away from the TV and on Beckett and Esposito, who did not see Dex in the room with him. Putting her gun away, Beckett considerately told Erwin, "E.J., my name is Detective Beckett. I need you to come with me, ok?"

"He told me to stay put." Erwin answered.

"I know he did, sweetie. But I'm saying it's okay that you _don't_." Beckett said, holding her arms out to the child.

The soft way that she spoke to him helped earn his trust and he stood up to walk to Beckett; she gently picked him up and carried him away. Castle saw her leave the room with Erwin, handing him over to another female officer on the team to carry him out of the apartment. Castle breathed in relief after seeing Erwin make it out safe and unharmed, and he was even more relaxed when he heard Ryan tell Beckett, "There's no sign of Dex in any of the rooms."

"He knew we were coming." Beckett inferred.

"He knew _we_ were coming, but not you-know-who." Castle enunciated.

Hearing him, Ryan uttered in confusion, "What?"

As soon as she noticed the way Castle almost expose the fact that they were secretly working with someone outside the investigation, Beckett quickly covered it by ordering Ryan, "Check for any clues Dex might've left to where he might've gone – something we can use to track his whereabouts."

Ryan carried out the order, but he was still curious about what Castle said. Shortly after Ryan left their side, Castle's phone buzzed in his pocket. Taking it out, he saw that he received a text that read: "Meet me in the alley across the street. ~SH" Castle knew only one man with the initials "S" and "H." He turned to Kate and said with a smile, "He's back."

* * *

><p>Obeying the instructions given to them in the text, Castle and Beckett stepped out of the building, still wearing their bulletproof vests, and walked across the street, moving into the alleyway adjacent from the apartment entrance. As they arrived, Sherlock emerged from behind a dumpster. Before either Beckett or Castle could have started with questions pertaining to Sherlock's disappearance, he quickly spoke out before them: "We haven't a moment to lose. I found our suspect. Don't ask how or why I was able to do it – let's just say that the bullet we retrieved from Lou Romano gave me <em>a lot<em> to go on." He then added somewhat stiffly, "Oh…and congrats on solving the puzzle."

"You found our suspect?" Beckett elatedly asked.

Sherlock stepped away from the dumpster and gestured to the spot behind it. Castle and Beckett stepped in closer to the dumpster and saw an unconscious Robert Dex sitting on the ground and lying against the dumpster. Dex matched the description given to them by his tenant; he was a clean shaven man of twenty-seven years of age, wearing ripped jeans, black boots, and a gray shirt with long sleeves. It was obvious that Sherlock was the one who put him in the current condition he was in and managed to do it without doing any physical damage to Dex or himself.

Castle whistled over the sight of the unconscious Robert Dex. "Nice work."

Sherlock acknowledged the writer's compliment with a satisfied grin.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six: Nowhere to Run**

"Wakey-wakey, Dex."

Everything was hazy around Dex as he opened his eyes; he had been slumped in the chair for an uncertain amount of time, sitting right across Beckett in the interrogation room. It was just the two of them there with Sherlock observing through the one-way mirror from the adjacent room. As soon as Dex was fully conscious and regained focus, he asked in a groggily voice, "The hell am I?"

"You're in hell." Beckett answered in sarcasm. "You've led a _real_ sinful life."

"Preserving the master race isn't…"

"Oh, cut the bull." Beckett belligerently interrupted. "I get so sick of hearing the crap that comes out the mouths of bastards like you."

Dex smiled. "Last time I checked, free speech wasn't a crime."

"No, but murdering that school janitor and kidnapping a six-year-old boy pretty much is, wouldn't you say?"

"You think I really givva damn about some old darkie and a little monke…?"

Beckett sharply stood up, making Dex flinch. Seeing him react to her just getting up made Beckett chuckle. "You're pathetic. You commit three murders and a kidnapping in one week and don't even have the balls to…"

"Wait, wait! _Three_ murders?"

Sherlock's ears perked when he noticed the confusion in Dex's voice.

"I didn't commit _three_ murders, lady. There was only that one."

"And you think that makes it all better?" Beckett queried. "We found the nitroglycerin that was used to blow up that nightclub and the gun to the bullet we retrieved from Lou Romano in your apartment earlier today, in addition to Erwin James, the boy you kidnapped. Your fingerprints were all over the evidence, Dex."

Sherlock saw how genuinely confused and surprised Dex appeared to be, but Beckett was too focused on the interrogation to notice. "Look, look…Okay…I admit that I murdered the janitor in the school. The kid wasn't part of the plan – he just saw me as I was leaving the school. And as far as the nitro and gun you found, I know it was that bastard who planted it there to get me to take the fall for him."

"What plan?" Beckett centered on that one word he uttered seemingly by accident. "Who were you working with?"

Dex groaned in defeat; there was no use in hiding the truth in front of such a hard cop like Beckett. "I was paid to kill the old man by somebody who wanted some guy I never even heard of before. It was supposed to attract his attention or something. I don't know – he didn't tell me everything."

"What was the name of your sponsor?"

"The hell if I know, lady. All I got was a distorted voice over the phone and a photo of the same son of a bitch who clocked me near that dumpster. If there's anybody you should be questioning, it's _him_! 'Cause _he_ is the one that guy is after!"

From the corner of her eye, Beckett glanced to the mirror, knowing that Sherlock was standing behind it and hearing everything that Dex was saying. Sherlock indeed heard every word and anticipated this twist happening much earlier. Dex was too petty of a criminal to Sherlock to be capable of such a masterful plot, leaving him to be merely a ruse for the _real_ mastermind.

"So _now_ can I call my lawyer?" Dex impatiently asked.

Beckett glared at him. "Just one more question…why you?"

Dex snickered. "Why _not_ me? Like I said, _officer_…I'm preserving the master race. The guy who hired me clearly shared my vision of a future where only the pure-skinned will dominate." He then rolled up his right sleeve to show the swastika tattooed in black on his forearm. "And if you're not part of the solution, then you will suffer with the rest of the inferiors."

His words did not intimidate the detective, who just stood and said as she exited, "If he 'shared' your vision, then why is it _your_ sorry ass that'll be in the courtroom?" Beckett's inquiry instantly wiped off the sardonic smile that was on Robert Dex's face; it was all she needed to see before leaving. Slamming the door behind her, Sherlock met up with her in the hallway; upon seeing him, she curiously asked, "Did you know that guy wasn't our _main_ suspect?"

"He was _a_ suspect, but not _the_ suspect." Sherlock stated as he walked side-by-side with her down the hall. "Mr. Dex was merely a hired hand to throw us off track. The nitroglycerin and rifle found in his apartment will be enough to convince the court that he deserves an extensive prison sentence."

"But we have him on camera stating that he wasn't behind the bombs or the shooting. How is a jury supposed to go with that kind of info?"

"Would you have believed the word of a man like Robert Dex?"

Beckett stumbled on her answer as they stopped near the entrance to the bullpen. "I don't…To be honest, the whole time I was in there with that guy, all I could see was the look on Lanie's face when we found the janitor's body. I was so pissed that it took _every _fiber of my being to keep from slamming him against the wall."

"But you've been angrier before…when your mother was killed."

She opened her mouth to say something, but she stopped when she was caught off guard by Sherlock's accurate deduction.

"Family is an important thing to you. When you've felt that _your_ family – the family you have in this precinct – is threatened, you retaliate in a way that you're not used to. It happened with Roy Montgomery. You were pushed over the edge, but you haven't yet been pushed completely. There will _be_ a time when that happens, Kate…but you'll have to control yourself and realize how your actions will affect your family, your career…even your life."

As Kate listened to Sherlock, she noticed a happy Mr. and Mrs. James pass near them with an equally happy Erwin, all heading to the elevator; their appearance could not have occurred at a better time to emphasize Sherlock's point. Looking away from the family they helped that day, Beckett took Sherlock's words into consideration and redirected the topic back to him. "What about you? You had a family, a career, and a life back in London. How do you cope without it all?"

Sherlock's face looked stiff as stone upon answering. "I don't. What you would call a family, a career, and a life for me was nothing more than an accident. I had nothing…nobody…except for one."

"Well, what about him?"

He was silent for a long moment until he said, "He's better off without me. I was always in the way of him obtaining that happier life he deserved. Days with me are maddening. Even I take a moment to see that when I know that _I've_ been pushed over the edge."

"What is his name?"

Sherlock seemed to have hesitated a little before he gave the name. "John Watson. Before I met him, I wasn't _nearly_ as sociable as I've been with you and Castle. But, of course, that's why I've come to accept you two. Seeing you both work together takes me back to those days I worked with John. Castle is _your_ Watson, Kate. He keeps you grounded to reality and helps you see the better side of life. Never lose that." Beckett nodded in agreement with that sentiment of Sherlock's. On mentioning Castle, Sherlock suddenly took notice of his absence. "Speaking of which, where _is_ Castle?"

"Probably out on another of his dates that he doesn't tell me about." While she answered, her phone vibrated in her right jeans pocket. She pulled it out and looked on the caller I.D. to find Castle's name identified. With a smile, Beckett uttered, "Speak of the devil." Putting the phone against her ear, she continued to smile while addressing Castle over the phone, "If you're calling to tell me that she canceled on you…"

"I'm…not interested…in the affairs between…M-Mr. Castle…and his bitch."

Kate heard Castle's voice on the phone, but it was quivering as if he was extremely nervous or terrified. "Castle? Are you alright?"

"You…and Sherlock Holmes…have done well…in capturing…my fool." Castle mindlessly said. "But the game…is far…from over.

The way he was addressing her had made her genuinely worried; there was a pause between every few words he said to her. Richard Castle had been known for pulling prank calls before, but this call sounded deathly serious. "Castle, what's going on? Is he there with you? Is he making you say these things?"

Sherlock saw the concern on Kate's face as she spoke on the phone, and he felt encouraged to take the phone from her hand to talk to the messenger. "I know this is you, and I know that Richard Castle has a bomb vest strapped to him right now." His deduction shocked Beckett, who was finally seeing what was happening. "James Moriarty played the same game, and you are _not_ James Moriarty!" Sherlock tried to keep his voice low to not attract the attention of the police personnel around him.

"You have…made smart friends…in this city…Mister Holmes." Castle repeated. "Smart enough…to save your life…without even…knowing it. But can they…save your life…and theirs…all at once? Meet this challenge, Sherlock."

"Where?"

There was a long pause before Castle repeated the psychopath's last words over the phone: "Where it all began."


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven: The Final Act**

Kate did not have to be Sherlock himself to deduce that the place their killer wanted them to meet was in the ruins of the demolished nightclub. She and Sherlock arrived there as night had fallen to find Castle standing in the midst of the ruins with the bomb vest strapped to him. His arms were raised high and, from the strain on his face, he seemed to have been standing with that pose in the same spot for a lengthy amount of time. Beckett had her gun drawn as she entered the ruins with Sherlock.

"Drop the piece…Detective Beckett." Castle repeated the killer's words as they said through an earpiece in his left ear.

Beckett hesitated for a second; but, as soon as she reminded herself that it was Castle's life that was on the line, she tossed the gun away, leaving herself completely unarmed. Looking around to search for the suspect, she yelled, "Why don't you come out and show yourself instead of hiding in the shadows?"

"You don't…call the shots here…Detective…I do." Castle echoed, his voice shaking under his trembling body. "As long as…you and Sherlock…do as I say…the writer lives."

Sherlock kept his focus on Castle, even though he was merely a poor messenger. "Why are you doing this? Are you another agent of Moriarty?"

"Is that…what you truly believe…Mister Holmes?"

"What I _believe_ is you're a crazed fan of a man whose final act was blowing the back of his head away." Sherlock retorted. "You are _not_ James Moriarty! _James Moriarty is dead!_"

"As dead…as you should've…been, Sherlock? You were….supposed to have…taken a fall. But now…you live…more alone…than you've ever…been."

There was a long moment of silence among them before Sherlock broke it and asked, "So how does _this_ game work?"

"You know…_exactly_…how it works."

"Sherlock." Kate cautiously whispered.

Hearing her, Sherlock looked her way to see three sniper points aimed at her head and chest; he also discovered the points were aimed upon him as well. Sherlock saw how terrified Kate had become with the snipers trained on her; it was flashing her back to the moment at Roy Montgomery's funeral when she was shot by a sniper. Castle saw her trembling as well and grew angry over how helpless he was in this situation. Between the two of them, Sherlock was the only one who was in enough control to determine the outcome; it was also the fact that he had been through a similar situation before that helped him to maintain a leveled head.

Through the earpiece, Castle heard the killer give him more words to say, and he fought hard to repeat them without cracking. "T-There's…a twist…in t-this game. You have…a choice, Sherlock. You let…Detective Beckett…call the police…and tell them…that Sherlock Holmes…is under arrest…for the murders of…Lou Romano…the people…that were…in this nightclub…and the attempted murder…of Richard Castle…"

"And what is my _other_ choice?" Sherlock immediately asked.

Castle listened to what he had to say next, and he nearly collapsed from the words he repeated after: "If Sherlock lives…then Castle dies."

Sherlock could hear Beckett slightly gasping in shock near him. It was evident what this was all about – taking Sherlock out of the shadows and into the world again; and the psychopath was willing to kill Castle just to ensure it happened. Of course, Castle could not be the only one to die that night. The snipers trained on Beckett and Sherlock could surely see to it that they die as well, regardless of whether they survived the blast radius from the bomb strapped to Castle. The killer orchestrated the perfect no-win scenario for Sherlock; it was indeed classic Moriarty, even though he still believed Moriarty to be dead.

All Sherlock could think of at that moment was John standing over the site of his grave; the devastation on his face from how convincing his performance was stuck in his mind; his only true friend, believing him to be dead. Sherlock was not certain if John Watson obtained the life he set out to have after Sherlock's "death," but had word gotten out that he was actually alive and well, how would John have truly reacted? Would he be beyond relieved that Sherlock was alive? Would he travel all that way to America to see him? Or would he be so pissed at Sherlock for lying to him and not trusting him with his secret that he would shut him out entirely?

These thoughts ran madly through the mind of Sherlock Holmes, who barely caught Castle counting down from five on orders from the killer. Without hesitation, Sherlock quickly said before Castle got to "one," "Alright…she can make the call."

He turned to Beckett and nodded. Tearfully, she reached into her pocket and retrieved her cell phone; she was barely able to dial the number to Esposito's phone with her quivering hand and fingertips. As soon as she heard Esposito on the other line, Beckett informed him that she had Sherlock Holmes (she mentioned him by his _real_ name, just as the killer demanded) under arrest for two of the murders they were investigating and the attempted murder of Richard Castle. Esposito tried to question the report, but Beckett's furious demand for him to bring in backup and an ambulance kept him from doing so. After the deed was done, she hung up the phone and sighed despairingly.

"Congratulations, Mister Holmes." Castle recited. "You have saved…Castle…Beckett…and yourself…but your days…of living in shadow…are over."

The sniper points on Kate and Sherlock soon moved away from their bodies, and Castle heard a click from his earpiece, which brought a wave of relief over him. "He's gone," he told Kate and Sherlock in his own words.

Beckett quickly rushed over to Castle and helped strip him of the bomb vest, tossing it far away from them. Castle quickly collapsed to the floor; every muscle in his body was extremely stiff and felt like it was on fire. Sherlock stayed where he was, watching Kate do her best to help him relax until the police arrived at the scene.

Seeing how defeated Sherlock looked, Castle told him, "I'm sorry." After a short pause, he then eagerly added, "I'll tell them that it wasn't you – that the _real_ guy had me…"

"No!" Sherlock hastily shouted. "If he knows that I've escaped again, he'll come after the both of you again – perhaps even go further than that." He sighed and nodded in acceptance. "No, I've hidden myself long enough now. The time has come for Sherlock Holmes to make his return…only it won't be as triumphant as I intended for it to be."

Castle and Beckett helplessly looked to Sherlock as he continued to stand with them in the nightclub ruins, waiting patiently for the police. Soon the sirens and flashes of blue and red came through the area. For the first time in a _long_ time, Sherlock welcomed it all with a hint of joy.


	9. Epilogue

**Epilogue: The Retribution**

Sherlock lied in a tranquil state on the bed in his holding cell, calmly awaiting the trial he expected to have within a day. While in his moment of serenity, he wondered just how everyone back in his homeland would react to the news of his arrest in America. He could imagine Greg Lestrade trying to piece together every logical way he could have pulled off a fake death, Anderson and Donovan would have been more confused than a cat chasing a laser pointer dot, and Mrs. Hudson would be overjoyed but then angry with him for scaring her. The only person whose opinions or thoughts mattered to Sherlock was John Watson's. Sherlock never once took the time to look at John's blog and see if he was still on his mind every day of his life. It had only been four months since his "death" – had the world really moved on without him?

"Hey." Sherlock opened his eyes and looked to the cell door where the guard was looking directly at him. "You've got a visitor."

The police officer walked out of Sherlock's view and another man stepped in his place. Sherlock faintly moaned in annoyance upon seeing the familiar visitor. "Mycroft," he uttered the name.

"Hello, Sherlock." Mycroft Holmes said with a grin from outside the cell. "How's America?"

"If you came to gloat, then I'd prefer you to do it when I'm in a maximum prison. The mood _there_ would be more suitable."

"You're not going to any prison, Sherlock. You've made bail…thanks to me."

Mycroft's news forced Sherlock out of the bed, approaching the bars that separated him from his older brother. "You can_not_ do that. The killer would go after…"

"The killer was never in New York City during the crimes." The look of genuine surprise on Sherlock's face brought out some delight over Mycroft. "The bomb that was strapped to Richard Castle was a fake and the snipers that were in the area…" He reached into his jacket pocket to retrieve a laser pen that he flashed on Sherlock's chest, making the dot there looked like the same ones that were on him and Beckett. "The killer paid off some people to master a scene so realistic and yet similar to the one you and John had with Moriarty that it even had _you_ fooled."

If there was one thing Sherlock did not like to be, it was a fool; so, in retrospect, the killer truly got one over him with his act. "The whole point of it all was to humiliate me…make me feel helpless…"

"And, most importantly, to expose you." Mycroft added.

"But how did _you_ know?"

Mycroft grinned. "I see through all tricks, Sherlock – even your own. And I know you well enough to see when you refuse to let yourself be beaten. Even now I see how much you want to get back in the game and return the favor to the bastard. That's why I'm here to assist you."

"My bail could not have been easy to make, even for you and the people you're connected with. How did you convince Captain Gates?"

"I merely told her you were a madman who's been craving attention by pretending to be people that he's not. The nephew of a landlord who has _zero_ next of kin? Really, Sherlock. If you're going to live in America, you'll have to be a better liar than _that_."

Sherlock smirked. "So how do you intend for me to get my 'revenge,' Mycroft?"

"First of all, if we're going to do it, then you'll need to agree to do it _my_ way."

"Impossible." Sherlock immediately declined.

Mycroft sighed as he started to move away from the cell. "Then I'll just tell Gates that I was wrong, and you can enjoy time in prison while your reputation is tarnished once again."

"Alright!" Sherlock exclaimed in frustration, stopping Mycroft from taking another step further. "What 'way' are you intending on?"

Mycroft slowly turned and faced Sherlock's cell as he answered: "There's a young lady in the Hamptons who excels on extracting revenge. I like to think of her as your female American counterpart. She's recently come across a major mystery involving her mother, and I told her that you'd be willing to help – in exchange for your own revenge."

After listening intently to his brother's plan, Sherlock went to his bed and picked up his trench coat, placing it back on. As soon as he was set to leave his holding cell, he refocused on Mycroft and stated, "Let the hunt begin."

**To Be Continued in...**

**"Sherlock's Revenge"**


End file.
